


The Tyranny of Freedom

by ShebasDawn



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-05
Updated: 2013-03-08
Packaged: 2017-12-04 08:39:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/708755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShebasDawn/pseuds/ShebasDawn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What would cause a mage to willingly choose the Rite of Tranquility? - On hold indefinitely</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Hatsepsut for agreeing to beta this story!
> 
> Reviews and concrit always welcome.
> 
> Disclaimer: Dragon Age belongs to BioWare.

Owain's lungs burned as they struggled to keep up with the rest of his body. His desperation mounted as he realized the pain in his side would soon become crippling. The sickly sweet smell of burning flesh still filled his nostrils, and bile scorched the back of his throat.

It had all happened so quickly. One moment he had been enduring the taunts of a bully, his rage mounting, the next minute the boy had been on fire, hair and clothes going up like bone dry kindling. He had been rooted to the spot until the sounds of a mother's wailing had reached his ears. He panicked and fled.

Where can I go? Where can I hide? He found himself in the confusion of Denerim's Market District. He looked about wildly, trying to find a way out, and turned to see two templars advancing on him, implacable and terrifying. He turned to run, in spite of legs that were as wobbly as a newborn colt's.

Suddenly he was flying as a force hit him from behind. Time slowed and he watched the ground rise up to meet him with only mild curiosity. The impact drove all thought from him as he watched the world slowly recede.

ooOoo

He awoke to utter darkness, his breathing sounding impossibly loud in his ears. Where am I? He held his breath, and strained his ears, but the silence was unbroken except for a faint squeaking his overstressed mind finally identified as a rat. Every muscle in his body screamed in agony as he attempted to rise from the cold stone floor. How long have I been here? He quickly dropped to his knees as a wave of dizziness washed over him. His stomach felt hollow, and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.

The sound of clanking armor penetrated the fog of his mind. He became aware of a light slowly growing closer, and gradually the bars of a cell door emerged from the gloom. Two templars stopped in front of his cell. "Please...I'm so thirsty," he managed to whisper. He heard a rusty squeal as the door was unlocked. They pulled him to his feet without a word, a templar on each arm, and marched him down a long corridor.

To his amazement, he wasn't immediately executed. Instead he was taken to a small room. His gaze fell on a meager loaf of bread, bit of cheese, and pitcher of water on a table, and his stomach gave a loud growl.

"Eat and get cleaned up. We will be back in 30 minutes to take you to Knight-Commander Greagoir."

He vaguely heard the sound of the door being closed and locked behind him, but was too intent on shoveling food into his mouth to care.

He felt much better by the time the templars had returned. They allowed him to walk on his own this time, and he was led down a gently curving hallway. They stopped in front of an office, and the two templars took up their posts on either side of the door.

Inside, a stern older man in a more elaborate version of templar armor stood with arms crossed. Another man in dark green and purple mage robes stood to his left, hands clasped behind his back. Both men had graying hair and beards, but the mage's kindly look gave him an air of approachability, a stark contrast to the templar's imposing presence. They were both turned slightly towards each other, seemingly lost in conversation.

He hesitated at the doorway.

The mage gave him a kind smile and waved him in. "Owain, come in," the mage said. "I am Senior Enchanter Irving, and this is Knight-Commander Greagoir. It has been decided that you will become an apprentice here at the Circle. We will teach you how to control and use your gifts."

"Your magic is a gift, but it's also a curse, for demons of the dream realm, the Fade, are drawn to you, and seek to use you as a gateway into this world," Greagoir said. "If you cannot learn to control your gift, you will be made tranquil."

"Greagoir, is that really necessary? He's just a child!"

Greagoir snorted. "He's dangerous, as are all mages. You know what he did, Irving."

Owain suddenly felt weak and swayed on his feet.

"The boy is still exhausted. All this can wait for another day, after he has fully recovered." Irving walked to the doorway and motioned an apprentice over. "See that Owain gets settled into the apprentice quarters, Jowan."

"Yes, Senior Enchanter."

Owain turned to see a boy not much shorter than himself smiling at him, and managed a halfhearted smile in return. "Come on, Owain. I'll show you around your new home."


	2. Chapter 2

Owain lay in bed, unable to sleep. It was too quiet. He was used to the sounds of a busy city all around him. Here, all he could hear was some kid snoring, and the clanking of a templar's armor as he made his rounds every half hour. Other than that it was silent.

Still, it wasn't all bad here. He had been thrilled when they had handed him his very own pair of boots. His family had been poor, and even though Owain was an only child, his parents hadn't been able to afford shoes for him. But he had always been resourceful, by necessity if nothing else. He had spent large parts of his days scrounging for useful items, and very rarely he would find a pair of well worn shoes. They usually didn't last very long, but it had been something. And he secretly liked the mage robes, although he would never say that out loud. The other kids complained about them, but they were clean and warm, and they didn't have any holes in them.

He liked the food, too. Not that it was fancy, but they got to eat three times a day, which was a big plus in his book. At home, Owain could only really count on dinner, and even then they sometimes had to do without. He had often found odd jobs he could do around the city for a loaf of bread or a bowl of stew, however. Once, an older woman had even given him a piece of pie! He had never tasted anything sweet before, and from then on he had worked for pie every chance he'd got.

When he hadn't been doing that, he had sometimes played tag or hide-and-go-seek with other boys. He had never really been friends with any of them, though. Many of them had been pickpockets or would steal from merchants, and he hadn't wanted anything to do with that. It hadn't seem right to steal from people, especially the ones who were almost as poor as they were.

He wondered what his parents were doing right now. Did they miss him? Did they know their son was a murderer? They were probably glad he was gone; they'd be scared of him now anyway. He squeezed his eyes shut as he felt tears threatening to fall. He was  _not_  going to cry! He was ten years old, not a baby anymore! He tried swallowing his tears, and when that didn't work, he hid his face in his pillow and cried as quietly as he could.

ooOoo

Owain stared at the book, feeling his cheeks heat up. He had slumped down as far into his seat as he could, but had been called on to read a passage anyway. He hadn't been paying attention. "Umm, where were we again?"

"Page  _two_ , paragraph  _three_ ," Enchanter Leorah said, with the air of a woman who had repeated herself one time too many today.

Owain could hear whispering among the other students in the class. The room was tiny, with six tables arranged by twos, two students to a table. The stone walls echoed the whispers and distorted them enough that he couldn't make out the individual words, but Owain was humiliated all the same.

At that moment the bell rang, and Owain slammed his book in relief and got up.

"Where do you think you are going, young man? You still have a paragraph to read."

Owain slid back down into his seat and reluctantly opened the book again. He heard someone sniggering as they filed out.

"Well?" she said.

"What was that paragraph again? Page  _two_ , paragraph  _three_?" He looked up with a smirk on his face and noticed her mouth had been pressed into a thin line. The elven mage's face was usually kindly, but it was clear she was rapidly losing what little patience she had left. By that time most of the students had left the room.

"Yes!"

Owain looked down at the page again and squirmed. "T...he b...best...p...pl...place"

"Owain?"

Owain looked up.

"Do you know how to read?"

He frowned. "Sure I do...well, a little."

Her face softened. "Didn't you go to school?"

"Sometimes, but it was boring. I never needed to read anyway," he said, crossing his arms.

"Well, mages need to know how to read. I'm going to have to put you in Senior Enchanter Sweeney's class."

He jumped out of his seat. "But...but that's the baby class! Everyone will make fun of me!"

"Now Owain, there's no shame in needing a little extra help." She turned away from him with an air of finality and began tidying up her papers.

He stared at her back for a moment feeling the heat of his shame, then turned and left the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Hatsepsut, my awesome beta.
> 
> I also owe a special thank you to Shakespira, for mentoring me on characterization, millelibri for patiently answering a ton of questions about her experiences at boarding school, and all my reviewers who take the time to give me feedback.


End file.
